The Journey Read Online Free Page A

thought him an excellent horseman to keep his balance in such a position.
    I opened my mouth, wanting to say something, anything to him, but winced, instead, when the highwayman grabbed my face with one hand, jerking my head back to face forward.
    “Not one word,” he hissed in my ear, his lips against my hair.
    A few moments later, Merle returned, crashing through the underbrush on his great horse. “Come on. Didn’t spy nobody at the cottage but Gert. We can go ’round back.”
    Within minutes, we had rounded the knoll and come upon a clearing in the woods. A small, rustic cottage sat a few hundred yards back from a stream of swiftly running water. My mouth was dry, and I longed to taste the coolness of that brook. Two of the men dismounted and entered the cottage through a rear door, their pistols drawn.
    Not long thereafter, the man called Merle appeared in the doorway. “Bring ’em in.”
    Inside, a slattern of a woman lounged against a long, rough table. She looked to be middle-aged and well used by life, her hair in need of a good wash, her skirt soiled and patched.
    “Nate,” she called, as the leader pulled me through the door and into the room. “What’s this? Ain’t I told you not to bring your fancy pieces back here?”
    “Shut your mouth,” he growled, pushing past her down a dingy hall. He kicked a door open and shoved me into the room. “Bring the gentleman back here,” he called to the others.
    Immediately, Mr. Darcy was thrust into the room. Sneyd, Merle, and the leader closed the door behind them.
    “Now,” he said, “heed my words, ’cause I’m saying this but once. There’s no way out of this room. The window’s nailed shut with iron bars on the outside, and this door stays locked, so don’t even think about escape. You got that, Mister Darcy? And you, Miss or Missus if you’re really that, do you understand? ’Cause if you don’t, I’ve got a real nasty way of teaching you.”
    He stood very close to me, less than a foot between his face and mine. I swallowed and nodded.
    “Mrs. Darcy will not go anywhere,” Mr. Darcy said, moving to stand between us. “You have my word. Can you not untie my hands? If escape is impossible, why should I remain bound?”
    The man let out a short laugh. “Your word? Hah! I wouldn’t give a fadge for no gentleman’s word. Leave him tied!” With a sneer, he turned and walked out the door, the others following close behind. My heart sank when I heard the key click the lock shut.
    Mr. Darcy strode to the door, and leaning against it, placed his ear next to the rough wood. “I cannot distinguish their conversation. The door and walls are too thick, which may be in our favour.”
    “How?”
    “They, in turn, cannot hear us if we speak softly.” He walked around the room, searching every corner, examining the single window, turning his gaze up to the ceiling. The only other possible exit was through a narrow door at the back of the room.
    “Try to open it, but step back in case there is someone there.”
    I did as he instructed, hoping it led to the outside, but I was dismayed to find nothing more than a tiny room containing assorted rubbish: old rags, broken, discoloured crockery, portions of a saddle and bridle, a chamber pot, and a cracked ewer and basin. Mr. Darcy searched the tiny room with me, motioning with his head when he wanted me to pull things back or move trash around, but it was all to no avail. There was no window, no trap door, no hole in the old stone wall, no provision for our escape.
    “It is useless,” I said, returning to the larger room.
    The late afternoon sun streamed through the high window. Disturbed dust particles danced in its illumination. A small wooden table, one of its legs broken and propped up with a brick, sat on a threadbare rug. Two small, hard chairs were the only other furnishings in the room. Against the far wall lay what appeared to be an assortment of more rubbish partially covered with a tarp. The